How I have missed you, every one, during my brief sabbatical during which I have been coughing and dissertating. Home stretch, beloveds, home stretch.
Today I am talking about a theory that is non-intellectual in nature, my own personal theory of gratitude. Today is American Thanksgiving. I always think about genocide and colonialism and terrible blankets covered with smallpox germs on Thanksgiving. But, I have to tell you, beloveds. I also give motherfucking thanks. I have it pretty damn good, beloveds, and I will wager that so do you.
Clean, readily available water to drink, magic electric lights that turn on and drive away darkness, hot bubble baths and the list goes on and on and on. I am surrounded by fabulous and genius colleagues, a very sweet close collaborator, and two aloof kitties who both majored in aggressive adorableness. I have magical communication technologies with which to tell you the following:
Be grateful for what you have, fight like hell for justice, and for the love of everything nice don’t buy a damn thing tomorrow.
In blessed blessedness,
Oh, and just in case you think I’ve gone soft:
burn it down, burn it all down.